


A heavy word

by Airenya



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-21
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 20:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airenya/pseuds/Airenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only her ghost wasn't lurking between their sheets, perhaps that word would be a real one, not only a trick of his strained heart. Drabble. 58 likely onsided Gojyo/Hakkai, Angst, references to abuse. Unbetaed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A heavy word

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Only a little drabble I wrote, an angsty piece of my mind, perhaps. Abuse references, Gojyo/Hakkai – Gonou/Kanan. Unbetaed.  
> Saiyuki is sadly not mine. Nor is the angst.

The air is sticky with heavy breaths and damp sheets, but, for all the work he's done today in their shaggy home, he could not find a fucking moment of sleep. The name is too heavy on his shoulders to be shaken off like that.

And surely the moisture on his face is sweat from a fuck session, nothing more, nothing less. Even when it prickles at his eyes and not on his brow.

A soft, almost inaudible snore beside him. His cigarettes on the other nightstand. The body pressed on his.

Ok, Gojyo. Time for damage check.

No hair missing, no toots swinging, no eyes swelling and for fuck's sake, no dicks chopped off. He tries to move, to get his cigarettes because he really really would like to not taste the blood in his mouth, but at the first slightly move, a fucking bludgeon seems to crawl up his ass into his spine.

Fuck. That _hurts_.

No way he's gonna have his nicotine fill now. Dammit.

Even if Hakkai seems the shy type, he's really… _energetic_ in bed. And not so caring. Especially if today is something like the anniversary of the first time _she_ had read his favorite book, or _she_ had brushed his hair with the blue comb, or _she_ had smiled to a goddamn stranger, or bullshit like that. Those days seemed he had a fucking lot of ' _todays_ ' to self-celebrate.

And fuck if at least one is about him.

Maybe.  
Maybe Hakkai doesn't love him, and maybe love isn't the word he wouldn't use to describe this… _thing_ , made out of trust, and sex, and respect, and 'it's Wednesday and it's your turn with the garbage'…

Maybe not, because it's too scary to think about that word, because every fuckin' time they are together like that, someone else pops out into their mind.  
Some other woman. A woman who loved Hakkai. _Gonou_ , his mind reminds him.  
A woman who hated Gojyo. _And_ _you_ _did_ _not_ _even_ _have_ _a_ _second_ _name_ _under_ _which_ _hide_ _yourself_. As if it would make any difference.

It's never a thing between the two of them only. Only Gojyo and Hakkai. Never. And fuck, Gojyo had tried, tried and tried again. He had tried to drive out their respective ghosts from the green table and bet on this _thing_. Only Hakkai is a goddamn better gambler than he is, and Hakkai _never_ leaves his personal ghost behind, never would.

So this thing must be only about friendship ( _yeah_ _a_ _so_ _fucked_ _up_ _kind_ _of_ _friendship_ _at_ _that,_ _but_ _who_ _I_ _'_ _m_ _to_ _complain?_ ), and sex. No souls involved, no hearts to broke, no expectations and no bad feelings afterwards.

Because if it's really only about those things, then he could pick up the glassy pieces of his heart that lays scattered all around and just patch the damn thing up. And hope against all hopes that the stupid thing will someday stop scatter into those millions of fucking slivers every time he is beginning to think of that word.

Someday that battered thing will only stop to beat entirely, and he's pretty sure no one will wait for him in the afterworld of taboo children, because all the important people, in his life, in this world, are something. Demons. Humans. They all have their respective afterlives. You're a fucking hanyou? Go fuck yourself.

Hell, he is _praying_ that people like him didn't have any kind of afterlife ( _and_ _what_ _fuckin_ _'_ _irony_ _is_ _there_ ), because he knows. When they'll die, _he_ will go after _her_ , any time.  
And he's tired to see people walk off on him.

So this _isn_ _'_ _t_ love, and someday, somewhere, hell, maybe even in another life, he'll be able to hear _her_ name without feeling that junk in his chest rattle and honk and break into million pieces, every time.

So he closes his eyes, letting the _not-tears_ fall on the beautiful sleeping face of his _not-love_ next to him, and hopes that it will be one day, may it be the last of them, it doesn't matter, when the beautiful green eyes he _not-loves_ so much, would see red ones, and not her faded green shadows.


End file.
